


Retired

by duointherain



Category: Hotel Artemis (2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 04:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16737490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duointherain/pseuds/duointherain
Summary: Tiny little epilogue.  Nice finally catches up to Sherman.





	Retired

Retired  
by Duointherain

Disclaimer: I don’t own Hotel Artemis

 

“Are you shy,” Sherman asked. The irritation in his voice was casual, mellowed, his words unrushed. 

The house sat at the edge of a private beach, small, secure. People still fought over water rights, but he didn’t have to. 

Barefoot, shirtless, he held a tumbler with a couple fingers of amber swaying as he lifted it to sip. Silver slacks, expensive, tight waist, firm curved ass, he watched as the model he’d requested paused on his veranda. Veiled with a cloak that brushed against the warm sand, her face covered, even her eyes hidden, but it was the way she moved, grace and power, a sway to her stride - and he knew her. He let her walk past him, into his small bungalow. 

Flowing silk, this time a deep blue, like the twilight incarnate, moved around her body, defined her shape. 

He turned, following his model with his eyes. “I said.” He took another sip. “Are you shy?”

“Non,” she said, her voice familiar and he knew exactly how long it had been. “I’m not shy.” She stood there in his little house, surrounded by his paintings, canvases of her, of cities, of the moon, more of her. 

He set the tumbler down on the table, by the flowers he’d meant to paint and crossed to her. Her cloak dropped to the polished wood floor, a ripple of twilight silk. 

She turned dark eyes watching him. “So you’re a painter now? This is what you wanted to do with your life?”

“Yeah,” he said, heartbeat rising. “Surprised?”

“Non,” she said, stepping over the abandoned cloak. Pale silk brushed against the curve of her thighs, the lines of her legs. Strong fingers reached out slowly, respectfully letting him decide if she entered his space. Those fingers caressed his face, the rough dark stubble. “I am not surprised that your passion became color and shape. I am surprised to find you here.” 

He leaned into her touch, then closer, touching his lips to hers, respectful, letting her accept his kiss. Somethings cannot be stolen without permission. “I knew you’d know where to find me.” 

“Always.” Her arms went around him, holding him, the solid warmth of him. “Paint me.”


End file.
